The Line
by Nimbus01
Summary: [Response to a prompt challenge]. Where do we draw our lines? What would you do to protect the ones you are responsible for? How far would you go to save your herd?


**This story is a response to the prompt put forth by the winner of January's GoF Forum prompt challenge: The Wasp. The Wasp is a writer here on , and I would highly recommend giving his story, _This is Growing Up,_ a read. The prompt from him is as follows: **

**"Where does one draw the line in the sand? Often times good and bad are seen as mutually exclusive. But the gray clouds often blur those differences until one day you find yourself unable to tell whether or not you've stayed above the abyss, or already gone over it. And then it's too late."**

 **I wrote this short story in about three or four hours yesterday, and put the finishing touches on it this morning. Needless to say, I'm a bit tuckered out, especially when it comes to dark content, so Fields will be on hold for a bit. I will probably use that time to get started on my response to this month's prompt, which should be a little more cheery than this. Let's get into it, then.**

 **Spikedome: Stygimoloch**

 _The Line_

"Tell me your story, Farwalker."

…

Where do we draw the line?

What acts are so heinous that, even with the threat of death looming, they must not be performed?

What separates us from the Sharpteeth? By what right are we really considered more virtuous than they?

I never asked myself these questions before. I never knew that I would need to, but I ask them now, every waking hour of my life, and to date, I have not found an answer.

My herd is a small and humble community. We Spikedomes prided ourselves on our lush feeding grounds for many generations. Just a few months ago, I became a proud father of a beautiful daughter. My mate and I named her Lachys. She was the only one of her siblings to hatch; most of our eggs were stolen during an Egg Stealer raid. We treasured her like nothing we'd ever known before. Neither storm nor Sharptooth would separate us.

But that resolve was tested when the Three-Clawed-Sharpteeth pushed into our grounds to feed. Many of my brothers and sisters fled; others still were devoured, unable to run quickly enough to avoid the snapping teeth and gaping maws. I was lucky. My family and I made it out safely, the first night. Our young daughter, barely old enough to understand what was going on, made it out with us. Many of the other children were not as lucky.

Those of us who survived met to plan our next move. We knew our home was no longer hours, and we could not hope to return as long as the Sharpteeth remained. Our only choice was to strike out on our own, in the hope of finding refuge in the Great Valley, a place many of us knew from the words of Farwalkers. They appointed me as the leader. Despite all that's happened, they still call me that. I have no choice but to shamefully respond to the title. If I could, I would cast it to the fires of the Smoking Mountain without a moment's hesitation. But I digress.

Our journey was peaceful, and far shorter than that of most who make the pilgrimage. Our kind knew the way; the path to the Valley is no secret now. With my mate and little Lachys by my side, I led them on, past Sinking Sands, over crumbling precipices, through roaring, raging water. We were an indomitable group. Nothing the Beyond could throw at us kept us down, and before long, we looked back on our old feeding grounds as a happy memory, a thing of the past to be cherished, but ultimately cast aside.

But there was one challenge that I could not have prepared for. I knew they were following us shortly after we passed the Longneck-Rock: Sharpteeth. Fast Biters, to be precise. Stalky, striped, miserable creatures with eyes that glowed like green fire in the night, and claws so sharp they could cut through bone, or so we believed. Every night as we settled in, I watched them, saw them come creeping over the bluffs, through the grass, around the rocks to watch us intently. And every night, as my eyes met theirs, they would quietly slink away. I could hear the "click, click" of their claws upon the ground. It is a sound I hear even now. It keeps me up at night as I remember that awful noise, and the terrible, glowing eyes.

This went on for several nights. Each night the others would lie down to sleep, and each night I would stay up and keep watch. I remember Lachys asking me one night why I did it. I didn't dare tell her the truth. I told her only that I had trouble sleeping sometimes, and this seemed enough of an answer for her young mind.

She wasn't the only one. The others grew suspicious of me, too- such is the burden of a herd leader tasked with the well-being of his kin- but I did not dare tell them of the terrible creatures that pursued us. Hanging Rock was not far, and I knew that just beyond that lay the Great Valley. We would lose them in the mountains, where our sure-footedness would surely trump theirs. This was my plan. Had we made it that far, perhaps it would have worked.

But we did not make it that far. We had only just passed Hanging Rock when they struck. I led us to the side of a stream where we were to stop for the night. While the others went about preparing their sleeping areas, I kept a watchful eye out, as I always did.

I cannot even begin to describe the fear I felt when they appeared- not from behind us, as I expected, but to the sides, coming at us from the tall grass that surrounded us. Looking back, I was a fool to suggest sleeping in such a place, but at the time, I was confident we would arrive safely at the Valley the next morning. I locked up at the sight of their sharp, glistening teeth, and those piercing eyes, but only for a moment. Thank the stars above, only for a moment.

They had a small amount of distance to cover before they were upon us, so I ordered everyone to their feet. They knew exactly what was happening, and how to react. We ran, and Lachys stuck tight to my side as we fled the resting-area. We could hear their screeching, their horrible howls behind us, but none of us dared to look back, for we knew that if we did, our pace would slow, and that would be the end. It was the same mistake the rest of us made at our old feeding grounds- those who looked back at the Sharpteeth were always the first to be eaten, and we were survivors. We knew better. We ran on, never daring to turn and fight. Our domes and horns are formidable, true, but they are no match for a killing-claw.

Ahead of us, the land sloped down, gently at times but also steeply in other places. We followed the river, followed its winding path down into the rocky canyons that border the very edges of the Great Valley, just outside the Mountains that Burn. In those rocky passes, where the slightest misstep could lead to a disastrous stumble and sure death we lost them. I personally gave the all-clear call just as the Night Circle began to rise, but I knew better than to trust the Fast Biters to simply give up. They were patient enough to follow us for days; they would easily have enough patience to hang back one more night.

We carried on. By now, we had covered nearly half a day's distance by running. My daughter was tired. In truth, we all were, but we had to keep going, even if it was at a slow walk. The Fast Biters had proven to us that rest was dangerous. Our only hope was to reach the Great Valley before they caught up to us, but it seemed fate had other plans in store.

We reached a point, shortly, where the river dropped down into a steep waterfall. The path to the sides was slippery, and a near-vertical climb, but with the canyon walls on either side as steep as they were, it was the most efficient way forward. Lachys clung to me as I lowered myself down. I could feel her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin; it was these things that made me go on. Had I been alone when the Fast Biters attacked, or even as we made our way down that near-vertical path, I honestly do not know if I could have continued forward, so exhausted was I. But I did it for her. And because of her, I did it for them- all the Spikedomes under my care. Together, we reached the bottom…

And that was when the Fast Biters returned.

They must have picked up our scent, because no sooner had the last of us reached the bottom of the waterfall-path when I saw one of their thin snouts poke over the edge, its tiny nostrils constricting as it breathed in the night air, and our smells with it. It hadn't spotted us, but once they came over the ledge, they most certainly would. I considered my options.

The waterfall itself was ringed by a stone path around a shallow pool, which flowed further down into a stony clearing, an intersection between the canyons. If we followed the water, we would once more have to run, and they would see us without a doubt. Behind the waterfall, however, carved out over many lifetimes by the water's force, was a shallow depression. Not a cave, exactly, but a scoop just big enough to fit a herd as small as ours inside. It would be wet, cramped, and generally uncomfortable, but it was our best choice, so I ordered the herd into it. They did what I asked without question, so deep was their trust in me. They even put me in the back, the farthest from the entrance in case the Sharpteeth attacked. I thought of protesting, but there was no time. We could hear them scrambling down the rock, almost as deftly as we had. The speed and agility of those Fast Biters was something I had never seen the like of before. When they left the path, they jumped down, landing silently on the stone, as quiet as a falling leaf, and they began their search.

I could feel Lachys trembling. I held her closer, comforting her, but her shaking was violent, uncontrollable. I feared for what could happen if her terror went unchecked, feared for all of us, but thankfully, she stayed silent, comforted by my embrace.

The Fast Biters were thorough, but not thorough enough, at least not at first. For the first time, I had a good look at the entirety of their pack. There were five of them, five to our eight, and those numbers were more than a match. Each was fully capable of taking down one of us at least, reaffirming my decision not to stand and fight. All we could do was wait below the waterfall as they scoured the area. I believe the water masked our scents, which was probably the only reason they were having such a difficult time. Once I realized this, I began to rest a little easier. They would sweep the area, turn up nothing, and then we could be on my way.

And then I heard it: the faintest hint of a whimper coming from my side. You see, one of the Fast Biters had come very close to our hiding place. It didn't spot us, but apparently it had been enough to spook Lachys. She began to cry, and I was gripped with a sudden fear. Would they hear her? If she continued to cry, would they approach to investigate? Apparently those of us in the front absolutely believed it because they began to shift uncomfortably, and mutter among themselves.

Worse still, the noise did seem to attract the attention of the Fast Biters. They didn't appear to know the source, but they doubled back on their search, returning to our side of the clearing. I covered my daughter's mouth with my hand, to muffle her cries. I wish it had been that simple.

But in the darkness, with those monsters outside, I think her simple, childish mind took some other meaning from it, and she began to cry out louder, kicking her feet as I embraced her tighter. My mate tried to whisper to her, to calm her, but to no avail. The Fast Biters drew closer. I could see the light of their eyes through the water. Lachys, my dear Lachys, began to kick, her little claws scrabbling at the stony floor. The sound was painfully loud; each scratch seemed to usher in doom for us all. My hands moved almost as if they possessed a will of their own. My right moved to cover my mouth, and my left… it moved to cover her nostrils. I squeezed.

Where do we draw the line, the line that must be traced in the sand of our hearts?

I drew my line that night, the moment I felt the life leave the body of my daughter.

She bit and kicked and scratched, but I held her back. The jaws of death hovered right outside our hiding place, almost as if they knew what was happening, and they were laughing at us. Perhaps they were. But there was nothing funny about what I had to do.

I restrained her; others helped me. She struggled hard against my smothering claws, but they held her, keeping her feet from moving, and alerting the Sharpteeth to our presence. Her cries rose in pitch to a muted scream.

There are but a few moments that will forever be burned into my memory: the time I cracked a dome-spine, my first mate-night, the invasion of our feeding grounds…

But I will tell you with absolute certainty that the moment my daughter died in my arms was a moment I shall never forget, as long as I live.

Have you ever held someone in your arms the moment they pass from this world? It is a clear moment, a tangible feeling. There is a tension, one last, desperate cry to cling to life, and then everything is still. The limbs fall limp, the breathing ceases, the eyes roll back, the color leaves the skin… I remember the exact instant my daughter died. I remember the sudden heaviness, the countless eyes upon me, the nodding heads, my mate, shocked, unable to meet my own eyes.

I clung to her; one final, desperate embrace, as the Sharpteeth closed in. It felt as if they were looking right at us, but the return to silence had apparently been enough for them. They barked orders to one another, and then retreated. Eventually, we were once again alone in the clearing, with only the Night Circle's light to keep us company.

They thanked me, said that because of my selfless actions, the whole herd had been saved that night. As they left the cave, it seemed each in turn had something to say, some measure of thanks to give for my "sacrifice."

I did not listen.

Instead, I continued to hold my daughter, even as the cold seeped into her bones, I held her, clinging to one last, feeble attempt to win her back, but the stars are jealous, proud things. They would not give her back to me.

And so that night, as we made our way here, I cursed the stars, but for every curse I hurled at them, I cursed myself twofold.

We never saw the Fast Biters again. I wonder if they were ever even there to begin with. Were they real, or had some specter, some last great challenge, come to test the herd that had survived so much before the Valley? I cannot say, but I hope beyond hope that they were real.

We left her there, in that depression below the waterfall, and it is there her body will rest.

The others praise me for it, they say my actions confirm their decision to make me herd leader. They say that this is proof that I can make the difficult choices; this does not reassure me. I don't want to make those choices. I don't want to make a choice like that ever again. My mate hasn't spoken to me since that night. Now, I don't know that she ever will. Did I really do the right thing? I wonder, now, if we could have fought them off. Perhaps I owed it to my daughter- to Lachys- to try, but there's really no going back now, is there?

I drew a line that night, but it was not a line in the sand. It was a line traced in the cold, dry stone of my heart. It is a line that I will never be able to stamp out. Sand is impermanent, but stone- that will outlast even the strongest of us. I know that I will carry what I did that night to my death-day. I expect no forgiveness for my actions, no sympathy- I am a murderer.

…

"Even now I realize that I am not welcome among these safe, green walls. I would not ask you to take me in, but I beg of you- allow my herd to stay. It is the best I can ask for."

Littlefoot looked down at the wretched creature before him. Tears brimmed on the suface of his eyes, but the Spikedome had none. Perhaps, he considered, noting his hollow stare, his thin, trembling physique, he simply had no more tears to shed.

For the first time since he'd taken on the duty of greeting other herds, Littlefoot was at a loss. The killing of one's own blood was a terrible crime, one that the Valley's residents would not tolerate, and yet looking down at the newcomer, the absolute emptiness in his gaze, he knew that there was more to it than that.

"Your herd can most certainly stay," he said, getting the easier part of his decision out of the way. The Spikedome nodded humbly, gesturing toward his herd. Slowly and silently, they moved past him, like Scaly Swimmers avoiding a rock in the river. He heard murmurs among them, some even looked at him with sad smiles. But when the last of them left, a brightly colored female, he saw that she never returned his gaze. Her eyes were downcast, and they remained that way as she walked away from him.

"Thank you, gracious leader," the Spikedome said, bowing his head again. His voice rattled, a dry, reedy sound like the wind blowing through the tall grass.

Littlefoot considered everything as he prepared to make his next decision. He considered his friends, his mother, his grandparents, the other members of the Valley. What would they think of this? Would they ever truly see the same utterly beaten creature in front of him? Would they ever know what it was like to smother their own, only child? He hoped they wouldn't, and in that moment he wished to be anywhere but here.

"Spikedome, my decision is not made without careful consideration. I have heard your story, I have seen your herd, and know the evidence exists in the way they carry themselves, and the way they meet your eyes. I know what you say is true. Bearing that in mind, this is my final decision…"


End file.
